David Golder, The Ball, Snow in Autumn & The Courilof Affair (2008) by Irène Némirovsky

think?”
    “Dad,” she asked suddenly, “do you like Alec?”
    “Alec?” Golder repeated. “Oh, that boy… He’s nice …”
    “Would you like to see me become a princess?”
    “That depends…”
    “I would be called ‘Your Imperial Highness’!”
    She went and stood beneath the bright chandelier, throwing back her fine golden hair.
    “Take a good look at me, Dad. Do you think I’d make a good princess?”
    “Yes,” murmured Golder with a rush of secret pride that made his heart beat faster, almost painfully. “Yes, a very good one, Joyce.”
    “Would you pay a lot of money for that, Dad?”
    “Is it expensive?” asked Golder, his rare, severe smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’d be amazed… These days, there are princes all over the place.”
    “Yes, but I’m in love with this one… ” A profound, passionate expression swept across her face, making her grow pale.
    “You know he has nothing, not a penny?”
    “I know. But I’m rich.”
    “We’ll see.”
    “Oh!” Joyce said suddenly. “It’s just that I have to have everything on earth, otherwise I’d rather die! Everything! Everything!” she repeated with an imperious, feverish look in her eyes. “I don’t know how the others do it! Daphne sleeps with old Behring for his money, but I need love, youth, everything the world has to offer…”
    He sighed. “Money…”
    She interrupted him with a happy, impetuous gesture. “Money … Money too, of course, or rather beautiful dresses, jewellery! Everything. I mean it, poor Dad! I’m so madly in love with all of it. I so want to be happy, if only you knew! Otherwise, I really would rather die, I swear… But I’m not worried. I’ve always had everything I’ve ever wanted …”
    Golder lowered his head, then, forcing himself to smile, whispered, “My poor Joyce, you’re mad… You’ve been in love with someone ever since you were twelve years old.”
    “Yes, but this time…” she gave him a hard, stubborn look, “I really love him … Give him to me, Dad.”
    “Like the car?” He smiled soberly. “Come on, let’s go. Put on your coat and let’s go downstairs …”
    In the car, Hoyos and Gloria—covered in jewellery and as stiff and sparkling in the darkness as some heathen idol—were waiting for them.

    IT WAS MIDNIGHT when Gloria suddenly leaned towards her husband who was sitting opposite her.
    “You’re as pale as a ghost, David, what’s wrong? Are you that tired? We’re going on to Cibourne, you know … It might be better if you went home.”
    Joyce had heard her. “Dad, that’s an excellent idea,” she called out. “Come on, I’ll take you back. I’ll meet you at Cibourne later, all right, Mummy? Daphne, I’m taking your car,” she continued, turning towards the younger of the two Mannering women.
    “Don’t smash it up,” Daphne warned in a voice made hoarse from opium and alcohol.
    Golder motioned to the maitre d’: “The bill!”
    He had said it automatically, but then remembered that, according to Gloria, someone else had invited them to the Miramar. Nevertheless, all the other men had quickly turned away; only Hoyos looked at him with a wry smile and said nothing. Golder shrugged his shoulders and paid.
    “Let’s go, Joy.”
    It was a beautiful night. They got into Daphne’s small convertible. Joyce started the engine and set off like the wind. The poplar trees that lined the road fell away and disappeared as if into an abyss.
    “Joyce, you’re mad…” shouted Golder, who’d gone somewhat pale. “One night you’re going to kill yourself on these roads.”
    She didn’t reply but slowed down a little.
    As they approached the town, she looked at him with wide, wild eyes. “Were you afraid, Dad?”
    “You’re going to kill yourself,” he repeated.
    She shrugged. “So what? It’s a good way to die …”
    She placed her lips against a scratch on her hand that was bleeding. “On a beautiful night… wearing a ball gown